


Nothing Hurts Like Love

by theloverneverleaves



Series: Shadowhunters Love Fest [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M, and luke is a dad, and nothing bad happens ever, past things, where clary is smol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloverneverleaves/pseuds/theloverneverleaves
Summary: Luke might have lost a lot, but he's gained so much more since... well, everything. But that doesn't stop the phrase 'Valentine's Day' hurting just a little bit more than it should.aka. Lucelyn + an aversion to the word Valentine





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Shadowhunters Love Fest](http://achilleanragnor.tumblr.com/post/154910608248/shadowhunters-valentines-day-fic-a-thon). Today's theme is Refusing To Use Valentine's Day because of Morgenstern, which spun off this piece!
> 
> Come yell at me at [isabellebiwoods](http://isabellebiwoods.tumblr.com/) xoxo

When he walks in the door, the house smells like coffee and paint. It’s a smell of childhood, of misspent youth and a home he lost long ago. Years and years ago, in a land so very far away, whenever he visited the Fairchild manor, he would always find her holed up in her room with a paintbrush - at least when she wasn’t training. It would smell like art. It was the only way he could describe it.

It certainly smelled more like home than his own apartment, which despite the passage of time, still felt cold and empty and a little lonely compared to here. Compared to everything that came with it. 

There were pairs of tiny shoes lined up at the door, boots and sneakers in miniature, waiting to be grabbed and run out of the house with. A bright purple backpack sat nearby, tiny coats hanging above next to Jocelyn’s larger ones. Soft toys littered the couch, a favourite, well loved cat front and center. Colouring books lay on the coffee table, scraps of art by hands so much less experienced.

And yet for the lack of experience, she still had talent. She was just like her mother.

“Luke,” Jocelyn greeted, almost with surprise, turning away from the canvas she was hiding behind, looking over to where he was lurking by the door. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

Luke shrugged idly. “Work’s quiet. I told them I was going to study for the detective’s exam.” Jocelyn raised an eyebrow in his direction, almost scolding. “I will!” he defended, raising his hands a little. Eventually. 

Moving forward, he held out the paper bag he’d brought along, placing it on the table. Muffins from Jocelyn’s favourite bakery. A bribe. Or a distraction. Either way, it seemed to work, because her face softened a little, and she put the paintbrush down, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Clary’s at the art club after school. I have a couple of hours before she needs picked up.”

Luke nodded. For a girl who was barely nine years old, she showed a lot of talent, and interest. But maybe she just wanted to be like her mother. Luke wouldn’t blame her. Everyone should aspire to be Jocelyn Fray. She was his idol as much as Clary’s. Gave him something to aim for, at the very least.

She’d convinced him to keep living when he hadn’t seen the point. He owed her more than he could say for that.

Of course, it wasn't just Jocelyn anymore though. She meant the world to him, true, but it wasn't just her. When they'd run, when they'd given up their lives in Idris for a whole new world in New York, he'd done it because he didn't know what else to do. He was a werewolf, he had no place in Idris anymore. He had no life to go to, and Jocelyn's entire world had been destroyed by her husband. By  _ his  _ parabatai.

They'd promised each other forever, so long ago. He'd never imagined it ending up like this.

But then he'd found something else he hadn't expected. He'd known Jocelyn was pregnant, known he'd care for her child. But he hadn't realised how much he'd care, how much that little flurry of red hair and bright smiles would crawl into his heart and take up residence there. 

He'd give her the world if he could. Do anything to keep her safe, keep her happy, keep her far, far away from her father. He didn't like Jocelyn's decision about Clary's sight, or her memories of it, but he wasn't Clary's parent. That was Jocelyn's job. And if anything, that little girl deserved all the peace and love and joy in the world. She deserved to have a childhood, with all the safety and love and carefree bliss that he'd never had. That Jocelyn had never had.

Shadowhunters didn't have children, really. They had young people they raised to be soldiers. Young Shadowhunters didn't get a childhood. They got a training regime. Clary was better off far, far away from all that. From a world that was so blind to its own flaws it was slowly collapsing under its own weight. 

One day they'd learn. Luke just wasn't sure if one day would inevitably be too late.

Moving further into the room, Luke found his eyes catching on a splash of red and pink on the coffee table, a piece of papercraft in the shape of a heart lying there in pride of position. The edges were a little rough, and there was glitter everywhere. It was pretty in it's messiness, in the love that went into it. And certainly, Luke could guess what it was. 

But it didn't stop him picking it up and turning it over in his hands, his heart somehow feeling heavy and light all at once.

"What's this?" he asked, feeling Jocelyn move over to sit beside him, watching him examine the card.

"Clary's class made Valentine's Day cards. She gave me one."

It was sweet, really. The sentiment of it all. A day of love and affection, of joy and just enjoying the people you cared about in your life. And he was sure, that was what Clary's school lesson had been about, that was what the class had intended to teach.

But the word Valentine felt hollow. Like ashes and dust in his mouth. A word that, thanks to circumstance, stood for everything other than unconditional love and acceptance and joy, and rather war and betrayal and insane pursuit of his twisted goals to the very end. 

He loved the idea. He hated the name. But Clary... she was too young, and Jocelyn didn't want her to know the truth. She would never understand.

He did though. And from the look of sorrow, and bittersweet joy in Jocelyn's eyes, she felt exactly the same.

"She means well," Luke said, voicing his own internal thoughts, the thing he kept repeating over and over. Jocelyn nodded, smiling softly.

"I know, I know. It's just... hard." 

It always had been, really. The mundanes made such a fuss of Valentine's day. The first years they'd been in New York, he'd had to work hard to stop himself physically jolting at the mention of the word, his colleagues eyeing him with suspicion and asking if he'd had a bad experience or something. 

'Or something' summed it up pretty nicely, he supposed.

"He's gone, Jocelyn. We never have to worry about him again."

"Is he, though?" she challenged. Luke resisted the urge to sigh, instead reaching for her hand. It had always tortured her. That fire, the bodies they'd found there, long after he and Jocelyn had left. Maybe it was because they'd been so far away that she had never really accepted what happened, never really believed it. Jonathan was dead. They agreed on that. But Valentine...

The faint scar on his hip where his parabatai rune had once been didn't help anything, either. That bond had broken long before Valentine's death. He didn't know when his best friend had decided he needed to die. But he had. And now... now he was left with working out what surviving that felt like. 

"We have to move on. If we don't... he wins. And that's not what we want, right?"

“No, of course not,” Jocelyn agreed. “It’s just…”

“It’s just that we’ll need to think of a new name,” Luke cut her off before she could continue down that path. “What about Jocelyn’s Day?” 

It worked, if the smile on her face and faint giggle in her throat were anything to go back.

“Luke…”

“No, I’m being serious. New name.  _ Our _ name.”

Jocelyn seemed to consider it for a moment, leaning back in her seat, watching him carefully. 

“Okay then. What do you suggest?”

“Olive you Day?” Luke replied, a wry smile on his face. Jocelyn snorted, punching his shoulder softly. 

“Your puns are terrible.”

“That’s why you’re my butter half.”

She laughed more openly that time, nudging him in the side, and Luke couldn’t help but join in. Her laughter was infectious, bright and open in a way it had never been in Idris. Being a Shadowhunter was what he was raised to, it was all he had ever known. And yet now he was out, for all the turbulence, change and turmoil that had come with getting them both here, he couldn’t help but feel it was worth it.

Shadowhunters didn’t get much joy in their lives. Laughter, happiness, and jokes were not a common occurrence in the hallowed halls of the Clave. They preferred their laws and regalia, having a group of soldiers to swear absolute loyalty, no matter what. No doubt they were even stricter on that doctrine, since Valentine. 

They were better off away from it all.  _ Clary  _ was better off away from it all.

“What about Agape Day?” Jocelyn asked after a moment, and Luke paused, thinking it over.

“Love of the soul,” he murmured, thinking of the rune in his head. Love runes were little more than symbols, of course. Traditional pieces of art that symbolised relationships and commitments and ideals. Some people had thought it vain to wear such runes, runes without purpose. You didn’t have a rune for love, for glory or for beauty. Instead they were for strength, healing, swiftness of foot. The Clave said it was different. The Clave said only those built for war were acceptable.

The Clave said a lot of things Luke had stopped buying a long, long time ago.

“It’s fitting,” Luke agreed. “And far better than anything with Valentine in it.”

Jocelyn nodded, and silence swept over them for a moment. And then… “Luke, I’m sorry. For all of this, for making you-”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Jocelyn.” She always felt so guilty for everything, taking the weight of the world on her shoulders. Luke wouldn’t hear of it. Not now, not ever. “We made our choices - both of us. We both believed in him. The fact that he let us down isn’t your fault or mine. What happened happened. I’m just lucky you were there when it did.”

He reached out, taking her hand once more, fingers brushing the soft skin there. She smiled softly, and he couldn’t help but feel how close she was, how much he relied on her. She was everything to him. Jocelyn Fray was all the world he had left. And it would take much more than a card on some mundane holiday to convey that. But he could start smaller. He reached up with his other hand, brushing her hair out of her face, taking in the flecks of paint on her cheek. He was close enough to make them out, close enough to-

_ Ring ring. Ring ring. _

Jocelyn jumped to her feet, pulling away in an instant and reaching for the phone. Luke resisted the urge to curse it, instead leaning back casually into the sofa, doing his best to make it look like nothing had happened. Nothing was about to happen. After a moment Jocelyn turned back, looking a little guilty.

“That was the school. Clary’s teacher is sick so the art club is cancelled.”

“I’ll go,” Luke immediately offered, getting to his feet. “You keep painting. I’ll have her back in no time.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t-”

“It’s no trouble. I’d be happy to,” he promised her, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. After a moment Jocelyn nodded.

“Okay. We can have those muffins when you get back.”

“Sounds perfect,” Luke agreed, heading back towards the outside world.

Agape, he thought. Love of the soul. Selfless love. Unconditional.

If there was one person in the world who fit that ideal, he knew where she was. He’d just left her standing at her easel, and was on the way to pick up her daughter.

Maybe one day he’d be able to give her roses instead of muffins and not feel odd about it. But not yet. Not yet.

One day, they’d have all the time in the world. But for now there was Clary. For now, there was family. And that was more important to him by far. 


End file.
